


Prompt 169: "What a pretty sight."

by asexualizing (Specialcookies)



Series: Phrase Prompts [2]
Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Debbie missed Lou and Lou missed Debbie A LOT, Emotional Sex, F/F, Public Display of Affection, Strap-Ons, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 07:03:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15702243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Specialcookies/pseuds/asexualizing
Summary: It’s not that they haven’t had time, or even, by most standards, they had a lot of time together, by themselves. But just like Debbie doesn’t know how to stop missing Lou, she doesn’t know how to stop feeling like she’s chasing after gone years with every passing moment.





	Prompt 169: "What a pretty sight."

**Author's Note:**

> this has really gotten out of hand like REALLY. okay.
> 
> The anon who asked for this prompt, if you are here, I really hope you enjoy this, I know it's probably very different than what you had in mind. 
> 
> Also, Donna Summers' Love To Love You Baby is a cure for getting stuck while writing smut, just fyi

“Babe?” Debbie calls, wrapping her watch around her wrist, picking lint off her dress. “Are you done?” 

It will not surprise anyone that between the two of them, Lou is the one who takes ages to get ready -- but Debbie still finds it incredibly funny, considering how effortless Lou makes her fashion sense seem, as opposed to the meticulousness of Debbie’s own preferences. It’s all in the attitude, she supposes, but in those moments right _before_ going out, Lou’s the one to get worked-up about every piece she wears, and Debbie’s the one to pull off her desired look in fast determination.

Checking to see she hasn’t left anything important out of her clutch, Debbie waits for an answer, or for Lou to fnally resurface out of their room, and not only to ask which socks Debbie thinks go better with her shirt.

( _“You can’t just come with your tits out,”_ Daphne had eventually decided. 

_“They’re not out,”_ Lou argued, though she sounded way more amused than she should have, considering Daphne had the gall to try and tell her what to do, which Lou never took well to.

 _“The minute you take the jacket off it’s practically the same as putting stickers on your nipples,”_ was Daphne’s rebuttal, and that was it for Debbie: guffawing, she kissed Lou’s cheek and said: _“She has a point,”_ finger running over Lou’s collarbone down to her cleavage in a way that made Lou sigh and Daphne scowl at them both.

“ _Alright, birthday girl. I’ll put a shirt on for you.”_ ) 

“Babe?” she calls again when none of these happen, uncertain if Lou’s ignoring her or if she didn’t hear the first time. “You know Daphne gets upset when you’re slightly more fashionably late than her and better dressed.”

“It’s her own party,” Lou groans, suddenly so close to Debbie it makes Debbie jump out of her skin. She gives Lou a pointed look for freaking the hell out of her, but it quickly dissolves, as many times before, when Debbie drinks in the sight of Lou turning a luxurious suit into a rock n’ roll spectacle, somehow, with a smirk on her lips. It’s not her usual choice of velvety green or outrageous leopard print, nor is it an innocent color such as baby blue turned grunge by design: it is a dark teal jacquard suit, an off-white button-up with a ruffled neckline, contrasted by the black placket and collar on it, underneath, topped up with a thin burgundy silk scarf tied to fit the ruffles, and on her feet, matching burgundy leather ankle-boots. Her mess of jewels has been cut down to an elegant pair of silver earrings, hanging thin and long, and two silver rings on each hand: bold and thick, her favorite pieces acquired in a Berlin flea market.

With a sly smile on her lips, Debbie says: “Daphne's gonna hate you.”

Lou rolls her eyes, covered in thick layers of eyeliner. “People are there for _her_.”

“And nobody’s gonna take their eyes off of _you_.” She takes a step towards Lou, who’s already reaching for her, pulling her in, running her hands over Debbie’s back.

“No, that’s just you,” she murmurs, her lips to Debbie’s temple. “And that’s fine by me.” Mulling the floaty fabric of Debbie’s dress between her fingers, she asks: “Where’d you get this Valentino?”

“A con artist never tells,” Debbie answers, lips to Lou’s ear, earning herself a jab to her ribs. In the middle of her laughter, Lou captures her lips, hand to her neck. Instinctively, Debbie leans into the touch, into the kiss, bones going soft in Lou’s embrace. But soon enough, she manages to push at Lou’s chest and protest: “Don’t ruin my makeup.”

“Can I ruin something else?” Lou teases, a bad enough joke turned worse by the fact that Debbie actually enjoys when Lou does that, brushing her nose along Debbie’s jaw and trailing her fingers over Debbie’s ass.

“I just got _in_ the dress,” Debbie admonishes lightly.

“And what a pretty sight you are.”

Threading her fingers through Lou’s hair, Debbie sighs. “It’s been a while, isn’t it?”

Lou hums in agreement. Unfortunately, like always, they have somewhere to be.

“Then we can be a pretty couple now, and fuck later.”

Lou plants a soft, ghost-of-a-kiss to the corner of Debbie’s mouth. “Is that a promise, Ocean?”

Jabbing her finger to Lou’s chest accusingly, Debbie presses her forehead to Lou’s. “You are ridiculous,” she says through a smile that she couldn’t suppress.

“Insatiable,” Lou agrees, running her hand up Debbie’s leg, bunching her dress up.

Debbie cups Lou’s cheek, tilting her head to the side as Lou drags her lips over her neck. “Lascivious.”

“You have more pretty words for horny?”

“Concupiscent,” she breathes, and Lou follows every word with a kiss. “Salacious. Prurient. Libidinous. Licentious.” Debbie pants as Lou scraps teeth behind her ear. “A hedonistic, wicked, irresistible woman making me _late_.”

Lou laughs, gentle puffs of air against the shell of Debbie’s ear. “Corruptive.”

Debbie hums and paints Lou’s cheek with a perfect print of her lipstick. “Obviously, between the two of us.” She takes a step back, grabs Lou by her wrist and her coat off the back of the couch, starts walking towards the door followed by a begrudged Lou. “Come on.”

(“I’m gonna keep it,” Lou announces, checking the lipstick stain -- bold and bright red -- in the rearview mirror as she fixes its angle, then her hair. Debbie closes her eyes and leans back in her seat, letting the breeze from the cracked window cool her, swallows down the pent-up energy Lou roused in her.

“That’s one way to make a statement,” she mumbles. Lou gently brushes Debbie’s hair behind her ear, gently runs her hand over Debbie’s shoulder all the way down her arm to intertwine their fingers. Debbie can feel her looking; there’s comfort in it, for some inexplicable reason, when it comes to Lou: lying in bed half awake in the middle of night and knowing Lou’s right next to her, watching, or standing in the kitchen with her back to Lou, and knowing Lou’s right there, watching -- Debbie doesn’t like being watched, it’s part of her profession to not like that, but whenever she can feel Lou’s eyes on her she’s calmer than ever.

The radio is turned on -- one last step before Lou drives off; some song Debbie never heard and Lou hums along to instinctively. Then Lou slides her hand away with one last squeeze and backs the car out of its parking spot.)

***

There’s a mansion, about a thousand people that Debbie cannot stand to be near and has no idea why the hell Daphne would want there, more alcohol than a thousand people should consume, and food that Lou won’t stop insisting is the best she ever had.

“Did you try this one, babe?” she asks, holding a piece of toasted ravioli between her fingers. Having been through this three times already, Debbie gives up on asking if she should, and opts straight to saying no, leaning in and letting Lou direct the piece into her mouth.

Lou’s not wrong in insisting that the food here is the best she ever had.

Debbie moans in delight, resisting the urge to lick crumbs off Lou’s fingers when Lou brushes them off the corner of her mouth. Lou does that herself, quirking an eyebrow at Debbie as she goes.

“Can you guys take it down a notch?” Tammy scolds them as she comes to stand next to Debbie, who turns to face her and leans back into Lou’s chest as Lou wraps two arms around her torso.

“No,” Lou answers simply just as Debbie asks: “Where’s the hubby, Tam-Tam?”

Tammy glares at Lou before turning to Debbie with an answer. “Downstairs, on the verge of a panic attack because Lady Gaga is here.” She sips her champagne and sighs like she’s letting out a week-worth of exhaustion. 

“And you left him all alone?” Lou leans her chin on Debbie’s shoulder. Debbie sags a little, lets Lou hold some of her weight. She’s a bit tipsy, and comfortably warm, and Lou smells of the perfume Debbie had stolen for her, and Debbie just wants her close.

“Oh, he’s fine,” Tammy waves Lou off. “They’re talking. He’s good at pretending he is not freaking out. You got something on your cheek,” she adds, gestures towards Lou with her chin, restraining a bubbly laugh.

“I know,” Lou says, almost proudly. Debbie can feel her smiling as she rocks them gently from side to side, squeezing Debbie’s waist slightly tighter. 

Tammy shakes her head, disbelieving -- but she’s smiling and she isn’t very good at hiding it. Tammy has always been too romantic to not enjoy others’ happiness. “Seriously. Down a notch.” 

Debbie shuts her eyes and leans further into Lou’s embrace. The music (some elegant, easy-on-the-ears jazz) is a distant sound compared to Lou’s heartbeat, which Debbie focuses on. She can let Lou take most of the fire for them acting like some schmoopy teenagers, but in all honesty if Lou tried to back off in response to it, Debbie would protest. And not slightly. 

She turns enough to bury her face in Lou’s neck and sigh into it, wrapping one arm around Lou’s waist. She cannot care less whether Tammy is still there, or any other person for that matter. She doesn’t _hate_ parties, per se, but she doesn’t like them either; not when they’re an Event with a capital E, not when she would very much like to not know any of the people in the room and for them to not know her. All things considered, she would love to be back at the loft, but she would also love to not be on Daphne’s blacklist, so there are sacrifices that need to be made.

“Alright, jailbird?” Lou asks, quiet and soft, taking the glass of champagne out of Debbie’s hand and placing it on the table next to their food, enabling Debbie to place that hand on Lou’s breastbone, draw circles there.

She hums and breathes Lou in. Her presence is comforting, there’s that, yeah -- for so many years Debbie held on to that presence whenever she needed: the stressful moments right before executing a con, or the stressful moments right after it when you’re not sure you’re in the clear; parties, gatherings, or crowded places; phone calls to Danny that ended on a rough note. It’s not that Lou’s always calm and collected, it’s that she can emanate that feeling in Debbie, same way, she supposes, as Debbie seems to emanate that feeling in her.

There were weeks, months, years, nights in jail when Debbie thought she’d gone crazy just because she didn’t have this -- Lou’s hands around her, Lou’s lips to her forehead -- and she’s not sure how to stop feeling like she still doesn’t. She’s not sure how to stop missing Lou even when she’s right here. That’s the thing.

“Want me to take you home?” Lou asks, sounds a bit concerned. Debbie’s gone quiet, and she knows Lou’s not used to it yet.

( _“You’d tell me, right?_ ” Lou wondered one night, lying on her side, watching Debbie read.

Debbie had barely registered the words. _“Hm?”_

“ _You’d tell me if you’re quiet because something is wrong?”_

Her hand came to rest on Debbie’s knee, fingers scratching her there lightly. Debbie looked away from her book in time to see Lou’s expression shift from deep concern to pure endearment.

 _“I like your glasses, you know?”_ she added.

Debbie smiled down at her, covering the palm on her knee with her own. _“I like them, too.”_ )

“It’s too early,” Debbie answers regretfully.

“Damn right it is,” Constance’s voice cuts through to Debbie. She can also hear Tammy smacking her on her shoulder for interrupting Lou and Debbie’s conversation, and Constance’s resulting “Ow!”

“Are you all just going to gather around us?” Lou asks, less exasperated than Debbie would have sounded.

“You’re not the only ones trying to avoid a party,” Amita complains in return.

“Exactly _how_ many rooms are in this place?” Debbie snaps, turns to glare at her group.

“Twenty,” Nine-Ball answers, ignoring Debbie’s tone, flopping down on an armchair.

“You cleaned the footprint, didn’t you?” Tammy joins the conversation.

“Someone needs to be responsible for your shit.”

While the whole group dives into wondering what Daphne is up to, and what kind of explanation Rose is giving for Daphne’s outfit, Lou whispers, amused, in Debbie’s ear: “Well, this is fun.” 

“Define fun,” Debbie murmurs back.

With a chuckle and a kiss to her temple, Lou breaks smoothly away from Debbie before Debbie can do anything but grumble. She feels slightly off balance, slightly cold, slightly upset -- but she can’t let the crew see it.

“Another drink?” Lou asks, picking up Debbie’s glass and the plate of food.

“Might as well,” Debbie shrugs. After a quick kiss to Debbie’s forehead, Lou makes her way downstairs, and Debbie places herself on the armrest of Tammy’s seat. Tammy looks up at her, eyes warm, mouthing _cute_ at her, causing Debbie to roll her eyes as Tammy places her hand on Debbie’s leg.

They all drown themselves in meaningless conversation.

***

An hour later, Debbie finds herself on a balcony overlooking a pool that reflects a moon and several colorful string lights. Lou’s somewhere inside, probably still talking to Nine-Ball about her sister’s school (Debbie didn’t exactly _expect_ Lou to connect so well with Nine-Ball, but she’s not exactly _surprised_ , either; Lou’d always had a soft spot for girls from lost homes), Daphne and Rose had finally come up for air and set down with Tammy and her husband, and Constance took to bothering the DJ that had replaced the elegant, easy-on-the-ears Jazz band with some more contemporary and upbeat tunes.

Debbie swirls her glass of champagne absentmindedly and stares at the flickering reflection of the moon and colorful string lights in the pool.

She’s not good with people. Not when it comes to...friendship, or whatever their group’s status is. She can sweet-talk people, she can tempt them, she can command them, she can _pretend_ that she is a part of something, when she has a purpose to fulfill with that something. But Debbie’s simply horrible at maintaining any sort of relationship when it comes to things outside a job. Her natural instinct is to pull back from these things, never handle them. Lou had worked her way through to her by sheer force of will, and even then it took Debbie a year and a half to realise she sees Lou as more than a partner in crime. It’s a miracle she didn’t go away until Debbie pushed her intentionally. 

Debbie shuts her eyes then, swallowing down all the thoughts about Claude and jail and how _stupid_ she can be when she’s afraid, but their taste linger, and she swings what remained of her champagne down along with them. She’s too preoccupied with the circle of self-pity and hating herself for the self-pity which only leads to more self-pity to notice Amita until the girl says: “Hey, Debs,” as she stands beside her.

When Debbie turns to look at her, her hands are in the pockets of her dress (Amita has an unparalleled talent of finding those) and she’s checking the view below them in admiration.

“Hey,” Debbie replies, turning her body as well to face Amita. Debbie still remembers letting Amita crush in Lou and hers apartment when her parents got on her nerves every few months. She’s not sure she would have done that if Lou weren’t there, but she’s glad she did. Amita’s reliable, and she’s a great cook, and she’s -- well, Debbie likes her. She made Lou laugh, that first night she stayed. It was a bad day: Lou had to take a phone call from her estranged brother because their father was in hospital because of his liver, and Lou wouldn’t talk to her, had pretended everything was fine even as it was very obviously not, and Debbie had liked Amita ever since. She has a tendency to make things feel easy. 

“It’s a beautiful place,” Amita says, still observing the pool.

“You should get yourself one,” Debbie winks at her, though Amita wouldn’t see.

Amita smiles, but there is something rueful about it. In all their time running cons together, Amita was always the one overly cautious about her money, no matter how much of it she had. Even now, the only thing she did was take a trip to Paris with her date and move out of her mother’s house to an apartment that was still too close to her mother’s house in Debbie’s opinion.

“I don’t know,” Amita sighs.

“Well, it doesn’t have to have _twenty_ rooms…”

Amita laughs.

“Come on,” Debbie goes on. “You deserve it.”

“I do, don’t I?”

“Absolutely.”

Amita finally diverts her eyes away from the pool, looks at Debbie. “You know how it is.”

“Family?”

Amita nods. “Family.”

Debbie looks down. She didn’t intend to, but family talks were never her strong suit. She knows what _her_ family means to _her_ , but for most people it’s nothing like that. For Amita it’s definitely not like that. “Yeah.” She tries sympathy out on her tongue, not sure it’s working.

“Where’s your girl?” Amita changes the subject, probably sensing Debbie’s discomfort.

Debbie stifles a laugh. “Don’t let her hear you call her that.”

“Oh, come on. I haven’t seen you two apart since she took her Californian freedom tour. Was that a very long and excessive bachelorette party before you spend the rest of your lives joint by the hip?”

“If we were joint it wouldn’t have been that much fun…”

“No, no!” Amita holds out a finger towards her. “No sex details. That’s what Tammy is for.”

Debbie cannot stifle her laugh now, hold her hands up in surrender. “Alright. Jeez. She’s inside with Nine-Ball somewhere.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t left yet.”

Debbie quirks an eyebrow at that. Amita rolls her eyes and sighs.

“Well, first of all, your behavior is _beyond_ PDA. And I just. I don’t know, I thought you’d want...time. To yourselves. Doesn’t seem like you had much of it, since you got out.”

Debbie swallows, turns away from Amita to lean over the rail and stare at the pool. Amita’s right, on some level. There’s been the heist, and settling the money business, and Lou’s trip which Debbie could never ask her to postpone, and mourning landing on Debbie like a punch, and too many people in their life, and the whole process of actually getting back together, and -- it’s not that they haven’t had time, or even, by most standards, they had a lot of time together, by themselves. But just like Debbie doesn’t know how to stop missing Lou, she doesn’t know how to stop feeling like she’s chasing after gone years with every passing moment. The words tumble out of her mouth without thought: “Nothing feels enough.”

Amita’s silent for a long while. Debbie wishes she had another drink in her hand. When she does speak, finally, her voice is careful: “I’m putting my life on the line trying to give you advice, but…”

“What?” Debbie’s tone is sharp, but not enough to deter Amita.

“Well, Lou’s a millionaire who still drives an old Toyota just because it was your first getaway car, and you haven’t stopped thinking about life before jail since the first day you spent there. I think you both could benefit from focusing a little less on what you’ve been through and a little more on where you are right now. Which is to say, I’ve never seen you so happy to not be in the middle of running a job. So just… go tell her you want to go home. It’s okay.”

Debbie lets her head fall forward and her hair cover her face. She lets Amita’s words sink in, then sink in a little further. The reason she hates taking advice from people is because they tend to be right, or at least less stubborn than her in dealing with stuff. So easier said than done, but also easier ignored than faced. Maybe they need to let go of the past, maybe then Debbie will stop feeling like she lost Lou even when Lou’s right there in her arms, maybe… but that means they will have to acknowledge the past in a conversation. And, admittedly, they were always better at silent communication. Which can only take them so far.

She breathes in sharply. “Alright,” she says and straightens. She’s not entirely certain what to do with Amita’s general advice, right at the moment, but she is certain that letting Lou take her home right now is the best course of action. 

Amita rubs her shoulder and smiles.

***

Lou is still talking with Nine-Ball when Debbie finds her, but as she spots Debbie in the midst of the crowd, she immediately takes a step in her direction, and when Debbie finally reaches her, she wraps an arm around her waist and kisses the top of her head. Debbie doesn’t waste a second.

She places a hand on Lou’s neck and brings their lips together. “Home?” she murmurs into their kiss. Lou groans.

“ _Finally_.”

***

They barely make it to the car before Debbie has her hands under Lou’s shirt. When they do reach it, Lou presses Debbie to the side of it, a knee between Debbie’s thighs, lips to her neck and a hand running over the thin fabric on her breasts.

Debbie gasps, arching her back. It makes no sense for hours to pass and for the same arousal to rise again, but Debbie could swear it feels like they are picking up right where they left off. She might not be able to talk with Lou tonight, or in the upcoming nights, not in the way Amita meant they should, but she can definitely fuck with Lou tonight.

Lou’s lips find a sensitive spot, and she grazes her teeth against it, making Debbie moan quietly, try to run her hands deeper under Lou’s shirt. When she sucks on it, Debbie releases a sound that makes Lou clamp a hand over her wide open mouth and murmur, “Shit, Deb…” before she soothes the mark with her tongue.

Debbie pants as Lou slides her hand down, bites gently at Lou’s thumb and slumps back against the car.

“What will it take to get you to fuck me in the car?” she asks, fingers sliding underneath Lou’s waistband, making Lou’s hips hitch. Before Lou can answer, Debbie flicks her tongue against the pad of the finger in her mouth, and Lou’s head drops heavily against her shoulder.

“Not much,” she admits and pulls her hand away, planting it on Debbie’s thigh, rubbing her there. “But that’s not how I imagined having you after a four months wait.”

“We have at least an hour drive…”

Lou lifts her head, looks into Debbie’s eyes, and Debbie’s suddenly reminded of their first night after jail, after the heist was done, before Lou took off to California. They came, quick and desperate, rutting against each other in the kitchen. And as much as she wants Lou right at this fucking moment in much the same way, she also wants slow, deep, patient. She wants to stop chasing time.

Lou brings their lips together, chastely. “I’ll make it up to you,” she says with a smile.

“Yeah?” Debbie asks, barely above a whisper, closing her eyes.

Lou rubs her nose against Debbie’s, nodding lightly. “Yeah.”

Debbie finds her way into the car, her body heavy and her hair a mess. Lou turns on the radio.

***

Lou unzips her slowly, following her hand with her lips, leaving wet kisses along Debbie’s vertebrae until Debbie slides her hands out of her sleeves and lets the dress pool around her feet. She unclasps Debbie’s bra, pulling it off while licking at Debbie’s earlobe. By the time her underwear are on the floor somewhere near the door Debbie’s legs are shaking, her breathes coming out fast, and Lou holds her, thumbs circling her nipples and lips biting gently at the juncture of her shoulder.

“Come on,” Debbie mumbles, reaches for Lou’s head, threading her fingers through her hair to get her attention. “Get naked.”

Somehow, she manages to turn around, unbutton Lou’s jacket with clumsy fingers. As much as Lou’s suit felt nice against her bare skin, she’d like to touch Lou’s skin as soon as possible. Lou takes over her button-up, making a quick work of it while Debbie blindly goes for her pants, licking lazily into Lou’s mouth.

Soon enough, Lou’s whole attire is spread around them, and Debbie licks her way down her neck, over her breastbone to circle her tongue around a nipple. Lou sighs and arches towards her, and when Debbie sucks, Lou chokes out a sound and pulls at Debbie’s hair hard enough for Debbie’s scalp to tingle.

“Babe,” Lou pants, the first word to come out of her mouth since Debbie wiped their makeup off, and Debbie drugs her mouth up to hers.

“Hm?”

“Bed. Get on the bed.”

As Debbie settles over the covers, appreciating, for a change, the loft’s heating problem as her skin feels on fire, Lou makes her way to their ensuite. 

“What are you doing?” Debbie calls after her, rearranging their pillows appropriately. 

Lou emerges with wet towels. “Planning ahead.”

Debbie would argue, but without fail, every single time, even when she promised that she won’t, she makes Lou get up and clean them both. So she simply lies back, her arms over her head, and waits for Lou to join her.

“Want to know what I was thinking?” Lou asks as she settles half to Debbie’s side, half on top of Debbie. Her fringe falls in her eyes, even longer than it was during the Toussaint Job, as she looks down into Debbie’s eyes fondly. Debbie has no idea how the fuck she can see with her hair constantly in her eyes, but Lou’s so cute like that that Debbie cannot bring herself to ask her.

Debbie hooks a leg over Lou’s waist, places a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not sure I have a penny, let me check…”

“I’ll give you a discount.”

In a move that was only enabled by the fact Lou didn’t foresee it, Debbie flips them over smoothly, settling with two knees on the mattress and two elbows to either side of Lou’s head. Lou places her palms on Debbie’s thighs, near her ass, thumbs running over her hips. “That was rude,” she says, her eyes shining.

“Oh, come off it,” Debbie lowers her head, lets her hair fall around them like a veil. “You like it when I’m in control.” She licks over Lou’s bottom lip, Lou opening her mouth to her, one hand coming to Debbie’s jaw as Lou sets a lazy rhythm to their kiss. It’s maddening in its own way -- Debbie’s breath picking up pace, her hips hitching forward, her whole body screaming at her _more, more, more_. But Lou keeps her at bay with one hand in her hair and one hand on her hip, and Debbie, eyes closed, feels her urgency quelling into something deeper and steadier. “Tell me,” she rasps, surprising herself with how difficult speech has become in the span of minutes. Something flutters in her chest when Lou kisses the corner of her mouth almost reverently, runs her hand along Debbie’s spine, up and down, brings her mouth to Debbie’s ear.

“I was thinking you, on your back, and me, slowly, _slowly_ opening you up… “ She scrapes her teeth at the hollow behind Debbie’s ear, and Debbie trembles when Lou’s fingers press expertly into a muscle in her back that shoots a warm sensation down to her lower belly. “And I was thinking, when you’re dripping wet, and warm, and pliant, and so, _so_ ready…” Lou’s fingers press again, a different spot this time, one that makes Debbie arch her back and a moan slip, desperate, between her lips. Lou’s breath is coming quick and hot against the shell of Debbie’s ear, and regardless of the composure that her voice contains, Debbie feels her squirming under her, feels her chest heaving, her toes curling against Debbie’s soles.

“Tell me,” Debbie repeats, a hand on Lou’s ass, squeezing and releasing rhythmically.

“I was thinking,” Lou inhales sharply, “I was thinking, you can ride -- “

Lou doesn’t get to finish before Debbie’s mumbling, _yes, yes,_ kissing her with each time the word slips out of her mouth. “Yes,” she breathes one last time, Lou biting at her bottom lip before flipping them over again.

***

Lou wasn’t exaggerating when she said _slowly_. Debbie’s practically mewling by the time Lou has three fingers inside of her, and she definitely cannot keep still as Lou rubs her inside, insistent but not even close to enough to get Debbie where she wants to be. Lou’s tongue licks inside Debbie’s gaping mouth, Debbie’s taste still lingering on it from before, but mostly Lou just keeps close, moves along with Debbie’s body, murmuring _there you go, there you go,_ and, _so wet and open for me,_ and, _I’m with you_ as Debbie clenches around her, tries to draw her fingers deeper than possible, her fingers uselessly trying to find purchase all over Lou’s body, the leg that she at some point swinged over Lou’s waist quivering. The silicon between Lou’s legs presses against Debbie’s hip and Debbie knows when she moves just right for Lou to feel enough pressure on her side as Lou’s fingers quicken every time she does.

Lou’s voice is something else -- deep and rumbling, cracked and raw; blurrily, Debbie can see that she is flushed deep red, her eyes dark and watered with desire as she stares down at Debbie feverently. 

“Lou,” Debbie pleads, one wandering hand coming to rest on Lou’s neck, blunt fingernails scratching her there, eliciting a soft sound. Planting a kiss to her eyebrow, Lou runs her thumb, ghost-like, over Debbie’s clit, but even that is enough to make Debbie shudder and cry out wantonly.

“You’re ready?” Lou asks, soft and hot and almost as desperate as Debbie feels. She crooks her fingers _just so_ , and Debbie sighs, speaks mindlessly:

“Bursting ready, come on, let me ride you, let me -- “ she chokes back, takes a deep, shaky breath when Lou shifts them so she can rub the tip of the dildo against where her fingers are still buried knuckles-deep. “Come on,” Debbie says again, more urgently. She can barely remember _why_ she’s not on top of Lou yet, just that Lou said _slowly_ and meant it, but Debbie’s dangerously close to the verge of losing it.

Lou’s fingers seize rubbing her, and she shifts completely to Debbie’s side, pulling them out carefully. Debbie doesn’t waste time with feeling the loss of Lou’s touch; she forces her wobbly legs to cooperate, pushes Lou flat on her back as she climbs atop her lap. Lou’s head propped up by the pillow, her hands immediately coming to roam Debbie’s body wherever she can reach her. Debbie rubs herself along the length of the dildo while Lou grabs the lube -- Debbie’s probably wet enough to take it in without any help, dripping, just like Lou promised, but Lou would rather cut her own arm before potentially hurting Debbie, so Debbie doesn’t argue.

She looks down at Lou, two palms around the strap-on, eyes fluttering shut, and she is so indescribably beautiful that Debbie is suddenly widely aware of how much she loves her, how much she wants her, time tumbling down on her like a wall of bricks and she stops breathing for a moment, leans forwards to kiss Lou’s forehead and take in her familiar scent.

“Okay?” Lou asks. Debbie kisses her there again, then whispers: “I’m gonna turn around.”

Though it’s clear Lou wasn’t expecting that, it is also clear that Lou _likes_ that. Debbie likes the angle, too, and she likes the things that Lou manages with her hands when they’re in that position, but mainly -- she’s getting overwhelmed by looking at Lou’s face, and she’s not sure it’ll do her any good to handle it.

So she turns, supporting herself on Lou’s shin, her other hand coming up to hold her hair. She shuts her eyes as Lou holds the dildo as Debbie sinks down on it, and when she bottoms down, she feels Lou’s groan vibrating through her, she feels Lou’s fingers scratching at her back and her sides. She turns slightly with her back arched, lifts herself up, sinks down again -- “Fuck,” tumbles out of her as she picks up pace, step by step, Lou’s hand coming ‘round to fondle her breast, the other one finding those spots she’s so good with on Debbie’s back.

“Still a pretty sight,” she hears Lou pant, “God, you’re always a pretty sight.”

Debbie laughs, breathless, her grip on Lou’s shin tightening, her thighs working hard as she chases after the heat spreading through her. Lou falls silent, hips rising to meet Debbie, ragged breaths replacing her words. Debbie concentrates on their quickening rhythm, their growing loudness, on Lou’s expert hands -- the silicon inside of her is almost secondary in bringing her closer and closer to the edge, and the closer she gets, the harder it is to stop the words from coming out:

“I missed you,” she mumbles, “I missed you so much,” she can’t stop mumbling.

Lou’s hand slide from her breast down to her stomach, and Debbie leaves all her weight down to her thighs, which are burning, and she couldn’t care less, as she covers Lou’s palm with her own. “I know,” Lou says, and Debbie squeezes her fingers in time with her walls around the strap-on. “I know,” she repeats, sounds almost at a loss for words. “I know the feeling,” and Debbie intertwines their fingers, holding, holding, holding.

***

It takes them about twenty minutes to speak afterwards. Lou uses the damp towels to clean them up while Debbie is too exhausted to even consider moving, but she says nothing about being right as she does it, simply going over every part of Debbie’s body meticulously, occasionally kissing that part feather-light, occasionally stopping to lean her forehead against it. Debbie runs her fingers tenderly through Lou’s mess of a hair and catches her breath, the feeling coming back to her thighs.

When Lou’s done she throws the towels aside and slumps near Debbie, nuzzling to her side. Debbie brings their hands together again.

Lou’s the first to speak. “We should sleep,” she says, even though none of them is close to dozing off. 

Debbie turns to face her, runs a thumb over her cheek, kisses her nose. “Yeah,” she agrees.

They lie together, awake. Together. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm also on [tumblr](https://straperine.tumblr.com/) if you want me!


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